"Sarah, about last night . . . " He blocked her way.
"No!" She shook her head. "I didn't—"
Forest cupped her chin with one callused palm and tilted her face up to stare into her eyes. "I lay awake all night thinking about you," he admitted. "I'd not hurt you in any way, but—"
She jerked back as though she had been burned, her own hand going to her face. "I am no looseskirts!" she protested. "If you think I throw myself at every—"
He caught her wrists. "I want you, Sarah."
With a muffled cry, she pulled free, dodged past him, and ran into the cabin, slamming the massive wooden door behind her. She pressed her face against the smoke-stained door and listened breathlessly for his footsteps. Nothing. After a few minutes, she went to the narrow window. The yard was empty.
Feeling foolish, she opened the door, stepped outside, and listened. From the direction of the river she heard the unmistakable creak of the ferry. Forest was undoubtedly going for the passengers as he had said he would.
Ashamed, Sarah hurried toward the tavern kitchen. In these hard times, she couldn't afford to miss an opportunity to take in good coin. If the ferry passengers wanted breakfast, it must be hot and ready as soon as possible.
~~~
Wood grated against the sand as Forest poled the ferry easily to rest on the far side of the Misakaak. He counted three carts pulled by horses, two men on horseback, a string of pack animals, and more than a half dozen men and women on foot. A familiar figure moved away from the knot of men and waved at Forest.
"Mornin'," Uncle John called.
Forest nodded. "You folks want to cross the river?" He named the rates for passages. "Got quite a mess of victuals here." Two of the carts contained bags of grain; the third was loaded with barrels and blankets. The pack animals carried live ducks and geese secured by the feet, and one live sheep. "Headed north, are ye?"
Two men moved down to the first grain cart; both were armed with muskets. The younger man had a hatchet tucked into his belt. "None of yer business where we're headin' fer, is it?" the younger man said.
"Nope." Forest grinned. "Long as you pay with King George's penny."
"Will this thing carry us across?" the older man asked. "Cart's pretty heavy."
"One cart and team at a time," Forest replied. Without seeming to, he scrutinized the rest of the company. There was an older woman and a younger one with a babe in arms. One of those he had first taken to be a man was a half-grown boy. Still, he counted eight men in their prime, including Uncle John, besides the boy and the two women. Even the boy and older woman were carrying guns.
John pushed his way forward. "Who's at the tavern?" he asked gruffly.
"Me and the mistress," Forest answered. John had sprouted a few more gray hairs, and the crow's-feet around his eyes had multiplied. He looks like he needs a good night's sleep, Forest thought. Uncle John was getting on in years, and in civilized times he would have been overseeing his tobacco fields from horseback instead of riding up and down the peninsula in foul weather, dodging British patrols.
"Nobody else?" John questioned.
"Nope." Forest leaned on the pole and tried to look dumb.
"Alex! You and me cross over with this first cartload," John called. "That'll give us four on the far side." He leaned over and spat into the water. "The sooner I'm away from this Tory fox den, the happier we'll all be."
Forest kept his gaze down. "Fox den" was code for the Eastern Shore Virginia counties. These men were probably Patriot farmers traveling up from the tip of the peninsula. If he'd guessed right, these supplies were bound for Washington's army. After the defeat at Germantown, Forest knew that the General was making plans to settle somewhere west of Philadelphia for the winter. A wintering army needed food, and the land around Philadelphia was scoured clean.
Forest and his uncle had last seen each other in mid-September. As much as he wanted to talk with Uncle John, Forest knew there might not be an opportunity. They were both too well trained to break Forest's cover. As far as the Virginia farmers were concerned, he was nothing more than a lack-wit servant at a Loyalist tavern.
The woman and baby crossed with the second cart. Sarah was already serving breakfast in the public room, and the young woman was glad for an opportunity to change the infant and nurse him before the fireplace.
Forest poled the raft back and forth, bringing the animals, carts, and passengers. Two armed men stood guard over the carts and animals as Forest followed the last of the party into the tavern and helped Sarah pour hot cider all around.
The atmosphere in the public room was frosty. The farmers spoke as little as possible. The boy and the women didn't speak at all. As soon as everyone had eaten, they threw payment on the table and filed outside to climb onto cart seats and horses.
As Forest had feared, there was no chance to talk with Uncle John alone. They brushed against each other in passing, and John squeezed Forest's arm. "Watch your back, " Forest mouthed silently to his uncle. John winked back.
As the party was making its way out of the farmyard, the bell on the far side of the river rang again. This time the ferry passengers were a man and woman hurrying to catch up with the larger group.
"With the roads like they is," the man said to Forest, "we feel better traveling with a bunch."
The couple didn't stop to eat, but urged their horses down the road after the carts.
Sarah went into the tavern and began to clean up from breakfast while Forest finished butchering the cow. They paused long enough to eat a little cold meat and biscuit, and then Forest went out to the cornfield to complete the harvesting.
"I'm going to Martha's to fetch Joshua," Sarah told him. In truth, she could have waited until evening. Johnny and Martha would have brought him home, but she didn't trust herself alone with Forest. With Joshua at King's Landing, it would be easier to remember who she was and the part she must play. "We'll help you when we get back," she added in parting.
"Take a gun with you," Forest urged. "And be careful."
Sarah patted the bulky lump beneath her apron. "I will," she agreed. "But I'll take the shortcut through the greenbrier thicket. I'm not likely to meet enemy militia there."
The October sun was warm on her face as she set off with a quick step down the narrow deer trail. Too much had happened here in the last twenty-four hours. If Forest hadn't arrived when he did, she would have died horribly and her son been left an orphan at the mercy of Isaac Turner. It was no wonder she believed herself attracted to Forest. "It's gratitude you feel, nothing more," she whispered only half aloud. "Gratitude, and a healthy woman's appreciation of wide male shoulders and a mischievous grin."
By mid-afternoon, Sarah was back. She rode into the farmyard on the black mule and turned the animal in to a box stall in the barn.
Forest straightened and waved from the cornfield. His greeting was lost on the rising wind, but she noticed he'd tied his hair back out of his face and was working shirtless.
Sarah lost no time in joining him. The sky was clouding up, and cutting the corn would be much harder if it was wet. Once the stalks were stacked into tent-like shocks, the corn would keep and season.
"Where's Josh?" Forest called as Sarah came across the stubble toward him.
Sarah tried to keep her face from revealing her feelings. "Martha's going to keep him a few days longer. Her niece is visiting, and she has three children close to Joshua's age. They begged me to let him stay." Sarah took her place in the row behind Forest. "If you want to keep cutting, I'll gather and shock," she said.
"You're certain he's safe at Martha's?"
"Safer than here. Her niece has a husband and two brothers-in-law. They've come to help Martha get in her corn crop." Sarah began to gather up an armload of the fallen cornstalks. As much as she had wanted Joshua here, she couldn't deny him the opportunity to play with the Horsey children. They knew each other from earlier visits and got along well together. The whole family was fond of Joshua, in spite of Sa
rah's known loyalty to the king.
Forest gave her a long look. "Did you tell Martha what happened here?"
"No. I told you, I don't want it bandied about."
"I thought you said you could trust her."
"I trust her with my son," she answered softly. "He means more than my life to me."
"But . . . "
"But Martha is a rebel. Her husband serves under that rascal Washington. Some things are better kept—"
"Between us?" Forest grinned. "It seems we share a secret, Sarah."
She shook her head impatiently. "Are we going to harvest this corn or not?"
"Aye, Mistress Turner, I suppose we are." Still grinning, he turned and began to cut corn.
Together, they moved silently up and down the field, cutting and tying the stalks and piling them into neat shocks. Sarah tried to keep her mind on the corn and off Forest, but the task was nigh impossible. She found herself staring at the rippling muscles of his back . . . at the way he swung his sinewy arms. Again and again her eyes sought the wisps of dark chestnut hair that had escaped the rawhide tie to lie in damp curls against the nape of his sun-bronzed neck.
The sun was going down and the first drops of rain were hitting Sarah's face as they finished the final row. "That's done for another year," she said gratefully. "If you hadn't come back, Joshua and I would have been at it for another week or more."
"Maybe, but you'd have got it in." Forest straightened and rubbed the small of his back. "You're a determined woman, Sarah Turner. Somehow, I think you always do what you set out to do."
She pushed a stray lock of hair off her face, suddenly conscious of her dirty hands and soiled cotton bodice. She averted her eyes and brushed at the bits of corn leaf clinging to her homespun skirt. "You'll want to wash before supper," she said. "Give me a few minutes and—"
He smiled boyishly. "Supper is ready, m'lady. I put a pot of stew over the coals while you were gone. It should be done just about now."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "You cooked?"
"I thought you'd gone to fetch Josh, and I know he's always hungry. Are you averse to eating my cooking?"
"No, but—"
"Good. And if I were you, I'd change for supper. You look more like a scarecrow than mistress of King's Landing." Eyes twinkling, Forest reached over and pulled a corn tassel out of her linen cap. Before Sarah could respond to his audacity, he was striding across the field toward the river.
~~~
Forest was setting heaping bowls of stew on the table when Sarah entered the tavern kitchen. The delicious aroma of the beef and herbs mingled with the sweet scent of baking apples and cinnamon. A heap of shining red apples garnished with autumn leaves nestled in a wide wooden bowl in the center of the table between two ears of golden corn. Flanking the centerpiece was a pair of bayberry candles in old-fashioned pewter candlesticks.
Flirt raised her head to look at Sarah and whimpered a greeting as the pups scrambled over her. Sarah went to the dog and knelt beside her, glad for the moment to recover her composure. "She looks better," Sarah said. "The wound doesn't seem to be bleeding anymore."
"Flirt's not the only one who looks better," Forest said, pulling out a chair for Sarah. "Mistress."
Blushing, Sarah rose and went to the table. She had bathed and washed her hair, plaiting the dark locks tightly and pinning the braids up under a starched linen cap. Her rose-colored wool gown was trimmed sedately with a white linen bib, and she had changed the heavy leather shoes for black kidskin slippers.
"That color suits you, Sarah," Forest said huskily.
She lowered her head and clasped her hands. "Will you offer grace or shall I?"
Forest murmured the simple prayer he had heard so many times at his mother's table and glanced at Sarah. "I spared you my attempts at biscuits. These are yours from breakfast. I hope the rest of the meal meets your approval."
Sarah raised her glass and sipped hesitantly at the red wine. "Where did this come from? I know I've none left in the cellar."
"I had it in my saddlebags. We're lucky it didn't break when the horse went down." He raised his glass. "To you, Mistress Turner."
"I'd rather drink to peace," she answered. The room was warm, and she felt her cheeks grow hot as he continued to gaze at her with his unwavering blue eye. She reached for the butter, and Forest closed his hand over hers. Sarah swallowed hard, but made no effort to pull free.
"Peace between us, Sarah?"
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
"Sarah," he repeated softly.
She lifted her glass with her left hand and drained the last of the wine.
Forest brought her hand to his lips and kissed the pulse at the base of her wrist.
Tremors of pleasure spilled down Sarah's spine as her breath caught in her throat. A delicious heat began to grow in the pit of her stomach as Forest continued to plant feather-light kisses down her palm. "Beautiful Sarah," he whispered. "Beautiful, beautiful Sarah."
He stood up and came to her; she rose to meet him, lifting her face for the kiss she knew would come. His arms closed around her, and he murmured her name into her hair. Their lips met in a tender kiss of exploration . . . met and caught fire. Like flint against steel they touched, and sparks of passion ignited, driving all reason from Sarah's mind.
Forest groaned and pulled her hard against him. They kissed again as his fingers fumbled with her linen cap, pulling it loose and letting it fall to the floor. Her braids tumbled about her shoulders, and he unfastened the strands and ran his fingers through her long, dark hair.
She trembled in his arms, reveling in each precious kiss, eagerly meeting his rising desire with her own. Her fingers stroked his new-shaven cheek, caressing his firm lips and moving lower to linger teasingly at the base of his throat. Sarah's bones felt as though they had turned to milk; her knees seemed too weak to hold her. I've never felt like this before, she thought. Never.
Forest's kisses trailed hotly down her face, tracing a burning path to her throat. His hands moved over her body, touching her in forbidden places, claiming her as his own.
She strained against him, giving no sound of protest when he swept her up into his arms and carried her from the kitchen, through the public room, and up the stairs. You'll be sorry if you do this, her inner voice cried. But even that weak protest was drowned in the ecstasy of another white-hot, soul-searing kiss.
Chapter Ten
A Spy Unmasked
Forest nudged the bedchamber door closed with his elbow and paused long enough to drop the iron latch in place. The yellow-red flame of a whale oil lamp illuminated the small room with its single window and elegant mahogany canopy bed.
Sarah lay pliant in his arms, cheeks flushed with desire, head flung back to expose the delicate pulse of her throat. Her long, dark lashes rested against a startlingly beautiful, heart-shaped face. Her skin was not the Dresden satin of an Annapolis lady; it was tinted by the relentless kiss of the Tidewater sun and wind. A scattering of freckles spilled across her finely drawn nose and highlighted her shapely cheekbones.
Forest drew in a deep, heady breath, inhaling the sweet, clean, woman smell of her, letting her special scent tantalize his senses. She smells of lavender and honeysuckle, he thought . . . and she tastes like clover honey. He lowered his head to taste her lips again and was drawn into a deep, hot kiss that rocked his composure and strained the bounds of his self-control.
"Sarah . . . little Sarah," he groaned as he lowered her onto the bed and began to strip away his shirt and breeches. Her sooty lashes fluttered, and she stared up at him, smiling. Her eyes caught the reflection of the oil lamp and glistened like stars in the night sky.
Sarah rolled languidly onto one side and curled an arm above her head. Unconsciously, she moistened her lips as she held out a hand to him. "Come here," she whispered. "I want you here, beside me."
A warning echoed through Forest's mind: This is wrong. She's a married woman! She's your enemy!
>
But he knew it was too late to think of stopping . . . knew the fierce, primal aching in his loins was stronger than cold reason. I want her! And I'll have her—the cost be damned! With a moan, Forest dropped beside her on the bed, taking her in his arms and kissing her lips . . . savoring the texture of her lips and velvet tongue . . . losing himself in the sweet darkness of her mouth.
"I want you, Sarah," he murmured. "I want to touch you . . . to taste you. I want all of you . . . sweet, sweet Sarah."
"And I want you," she answered breathlessly as their lips met. His kisses, his touch, had ignited a throbbing, incandescent heat in the core of her being. She couldn't get close enough to him . . . couldn't get enough of his hands on her . . . stroking . . . caressing. It's true, she thought. I do want him. I do.
Never had she seen a man so beautiful, so magnificently virile. Forest's chest was broad and muscular, without more than a scattering of dark auburn hair. His waist was as narrow as a woman's, his stomach flat and hard, giving way to taut buttocks, a tumescent shaft, and long, hard legs. His brawny shoulders and well-muscled arms were bronzed from the weather and scarred in a dozen places with the thin white lines of old injuries. One knee and part of the leg bore a deeper scar, but even that imperfection did not mar his strong, male image.
Hesitantly, with trembling hands, Sarah explored his broad shoulders, letting her fingers trail down to fondle an aroused nipple. She chuckled and was rewarded with his sudden gasp of pleasure.
"Oh, Sarah, what you do to a man," he managed to say.
His hand slipped up under her skirt to gently caress her bare thigh, and Sarah shivered at the intimate touch. His mouth covered hers as his hand moved higher. She arched her back and strained against him, moaning as his fingers brushed the curling locks between her thighs.
Forest moved swiftly to straddle her, and there was a sound of tearing cloth as he pulled away the linen bib over her bodice. She took his head between her hands and pulled him down to nuzzle her love-swollen breasts and their hard, aching nipples. The weight of his body pressed against her thighs and she felt the hot, swollen throb of his engorged manhood.
Scarlet RIbbons Page 10
